


may the force be ever in your favor

by versiailles



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Big Brother Bodhi, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 14:22:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11404239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versiailles/pseuds/versiailles
Summary: “There are more than 750,000 people in District Six. The probability of one of us being picked is so minuscule that it doesn’t even exist.” His sister speculates.Bodhi hurries to shush her as he watches a peacekeeper quickly place his finger on the trigger of his gun in reaction to the noise. “I told you, we’ll be fine. Just keep your voice down, we’re almost there.”--One Victor. Twenty-three Dead. Somehow 19-year-old Bodhi Rook is going to have to figure out where he stands.





	may the force be ever in your favor

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to @chargerz @liselctte and @nathanchcn for beta'ing

Sa’diyya found Bodhi limp against their front door with his long legs splayed down their stairs. Her only sign that he was actually awake was his rapid tapping along the banister. It wasn’t uncommon for Bodhi to just relax where he dropped, tool box methodically placed on the bottom stair. 

 

Sa’diyya nudges him. “Just relax, Bodhi. You don’t have anything to be nervous about,” she says tentatively. There's a long silence before Bodhi lets out a shaky sigh. 

 

“Me, nervous? Never. There’s nothing to be nervous about.” He huffs. “I’m twenty years old, I’m fine, I’m safe!” Each lie slips out easier than the last. “It’s  _ you _ who I’m worried about.” 

 

“Nineteen,” Sa’diyya whispers under her breath, hoping that her brother didn’t hear her, “you’ll be twenty tomorrow. But, you’re nineteen.” 

 

Sa’diyya had always been the more realistic one of the two of them, while Bodhi had his head in the clouds. Always dreaming of the two of them running away, somehow escaping past the peacekeepers, over the high, electrified fence. He always told stories of them living in the desert, eating berries and siphoning water from cacti. She would always laugh and tell him there was no way they were getting past the cameras, or the guns and how there was no way they could make in the desert past the walls. 

 

“All we have to do is keep our heads down, go to work, and avoid the reaping like we’ve been doing and we’ll be fine!” Sa’diyya would always tell him. “We’re lucky we aren’t morphling addicts!”

 

____

 

_ Their mother died before Sa’diyya was old enough to actually form solid memories with her. However, while she was in her prime, she would always sit Bodhi down on her lap and tell him that he was going to do big things when he got older. As a seven-year-old he had three jobs: keep his baby sister safe, stay hopeful no matter how oppressive life felt, and to remember to do something great. And then she would pinch his large cheeks with her small hands and put his dark hair into a braid, and tell him to go outside and play but to make sure he never strayed too far from her line of sight.  _

 

_ When their mother died, Bodhi took his jobs and turned them into vows; solemn oaths that he swore over his mother’s body before peacekeepers shoved him back and unceremoniously carried his mother and all her radiant positivity out of their house. _

___

 

Reminding him that he was only nineteen and not quite twenty makes Sa’diyya feel like she’s spitting in his face. He’s less than twenty-four hours away from aging out of the reaping and there he is, laying on their porch on reaping day, nineteen years old and technically still a candidate at today’s reaping. 

 

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says, giving a forced smile, “still nineteen.” He grabs the banister and hoists himself up. “Go get dressed we have to go in about forty minutes. Afterward, we’ll come back home and I’ll make you your favorite okay? I promise.” He feels _drained._ He wants to do nothing more than go inside and hide him and his sister in their attic and wait the day out, punishment be damned. 

 

Despite the anchor on his chest, he still takes a deep breath and smiles as his sister came downstairs, clad in his leather jacket.

 

“There are more than  _ 750,000 _ people in District Six. The probability of one of us being picked is so minuscule that it  _ doesn’t even exist _ .” Sa’diyya speculates.

 

Bodhi hurries to shush her as he watches a peacekeeper quickly place his finger on the trigger of his gun in reaction to the noise. “I told you, we’ll be fine. Just keep your voice down, we’re almost there.” 

 

They hastily merge in with the other thousands of teenagers. Bodhi kisses his sister on the top of her head as they diverge and go to their own gendered side of the ginormous lot in front of the equally ginormous stage. Bodhi eyes the crowd and felt a pang of betrayal as he steps behind one of the senior mechanics he’d seen once or twice at the shop. He shouldn’t have to be here. There should be systems in place for this sort of thing. Or at least  _ loopholes.  _

 

He’s driven from his thoughts with the piercing sound of feedback from the microphone. He glances on stage to see an aging blind man taking the stage. The only difference between them was the pink hair and the bright bubble clothing he had on. That and the aura of luxuriousness that no one in the fourth richest district could match. He’s adorned with different types of crystals in all different colors, and pink eyelashes that extend past his nose. The ostentatiousness of all of it made Bodhi sick to his stomach. 

 

 

After everyone recovers from the sudden noise, the man smiles at his apathetic audience before droning on and on about the  _ wonders  _ of the capital, and the history of how the capital and the districts lived until the districts  _ rebelled _ which caused thousands of casualties and resulted in the Annual Hunger Games. He pauses for dramatic effect at the rebels part, being aware that he was in the district with the most rebels. And the most morphling addicts, but somehow they both connected. 

 

Bodhi still can’t believe how the Capital made a festival of sending a group of teenagers to their deaths. How humorous it was to them watching district kids fight – some just to survive for their families, others for the glory of it, the rest just to save themselves from the next reaping. It was madness. 

 

At the end of his speech, the man smiles with his god awful pink lipstick before giving the same “Happy Hunger Games, and may the force be  _ ever  _ in your favor,” Bodhi hears every year. 

 

__

 

_ When Sa’diyya was born, Bodhi thought she looked like a rabbit. With a wiggly scrunched nose and flighty eyes, she was completely adorable. When she was old enough to walk, she became his shadow. “Sa’diyya means ‘luck,’ Bodhi. When she’s with you, you’ll always be lucky,” his mother told him when he complained. After that, when Bodhi wasn’t in school he always had her near, especially after their mother died.  _

 

_ When Sa’diyya cried too loud for him to concentrate on his homework, Bodhi just covered his ears and said “she’s lucky she has such a strong pair of lungs!” When she would grab at his hair and tug all he would say is “Wow, she’s lucky she’s so strong!” No matter what happened she would always be his lucky charm. _

 

__

 

“Ladies first!” 

 

Bodhi watches as the man from the capital reaches his hand into the giant bowl for the girls. Each girl’s name was written on a piece of paper and placed in the bowl. Because District Six is so large, each bowl was filled to the brim. The man pulls out a name and gestures for a guard to whisper the name in his ear. 

 

“Jan Ors,” He reads out in a clear voice. Bodhi cranes his head to see if he can find out what’s happening on the girl’s side, but he can’t manage to see anything. He thinks he’s heard her name in his shop once, but that’s it. Bodhi wants to find Sa’diyya and give her an “I-told-you-so” wink. They were going to go home, and he was going to cook dinner just like he promised. 

 

The man doesn’t wait for Ors to get on stage before he’s jetting over to the boy’s bowl. He can’t see, but Ors keeps her head held high the entire walk. Bodhi watches her try and mask the shock that’s trying to force its way onto her face as she steadily climbs up the stairs and takes her place on the girl’s side. 

 

“It’s time to choose our boy tribute!” He smiles. He reaches his hand in, as far as it could go without him toppling over, and he gestures for the same guard to come back to him. The guard, seemingly off put at the entire thing, whispers the name into his ear yet again, before the man makes his way back to the mic. 

 

“And our Male Tribute for the 73rd Annual Hunger Games is…” 

 

He hears his name being called.

 

Yet, statistically, he figures, with there being more than 750,000 people in District Six, there has to be more than one Bodhi Rook. 

 

Bodhi feels like he can hear the heads turning to look at him and his chest tightens. He feels like collapsing onto the floor as he’s singled out in the mob. He tries to remember how to breathe, but nothing is crossing his mind except for how he swore he would keep his sister safe, and how he would stay hopeful and do great things. 

 

Everyone knows that there’s no hope for the kid who gets reaped. 

  
Sweat drips down his brow and he the only thing that forces him upright and out of the crowd is the peacekeepers marching over to his screaming sister with their guns cocked and loaded. 

 

Everyone knows that the families of the reaped crumble. 

 

He wants to scream “leave her alone!” or “let her go!” but his voice is stuck in his throat and two more peacekeepers take him by the arms and start escorting him up the stairs. Aside from a few soft jerks, he doesn’t resist. 

 

They drop Bodhi at his place and it’s a miracle that he manages to regain his footing. He doesn’t look into the crowd. He keeps his head down and tries to regain his composure. 

 

“Let’s give a round of applause to your newest tributes!” The man cheers and his claps are the only ones that can be heard throughout all of District six, but that doesn’t stop him. Peacekeepers roughly escort Bodhi and Ors away – because peacekeepers from District six do everything roughly – as music plays.

 

Bodhi’s shoved into an empty room and forced into a red velvety chair, and left alone with his own thoughts that seem to be flooding in all at once. He taps, rapid-fire, against the arm of the chair, leaving behind little crescent prints. 

 

Everyone knows that career kids win these things. While district six is substantially wealthier than most districts, they still don’t have the experience with weaponry or the training facilities like the career districts. 

 

_ I’m going to die,  _ Bodhi thinks right before the door bursts open. 

**Author's Note:**

> (bad tier fic)
> 
> if you want to talk to me i'm @ aristotlesmendosa 
> 
> • comments and kudos help a lot! •


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